Monstrosities
by D.L. SchizoAuthoress
Summary: Sequel of Rainy Nights. Tira and all who come in contact with her, before the beginning of her Tale of Souls. [Chapter 4: Cervantes de Leon has a vistor, one stormy night...]
1. On Black Wings

Series Title: Monstrosities  
Author: D.L. SchizoAuthoress  
Rating: R  
Notes: The story of 'Monstrosities' is meant to have three arcs, which show the adventures and development of Tira Hrafn, from the time of the story 'Rainy Nights', to the beginning of her Tale of Souls. These arcs may be contained in a single chapter, or they may span quite a few. They are: 

On Black Wings (post-Rainy Nights, pre-Nightmare,  
Willing Slave (when Tira presents herself to Nightmare), and  
Gods and Demons (the beginning of Tira's quest).

Some things to remember from the prequel: Tira's foster family was Scandinavian, and the only one she loved was Ragnfrid Hrafn, the weaker of the thirteen-year-old twin girls. The Bird of Passage members killed during the raining down of the Evil Seed are the Watchers in her murder of ravens. The murder of the Hrafn family takes place about a year before the beginning of the Tale of Souls.

Okay, now you are prepped and ready to enjoy the story!

**_Monstrosities : On Black Wings  
a soul calibur 3 fanfic by d.l. schizoauthoress_**

Tira travels through northern Europe quickly, leaving a path of death and destruction wherever she goes. Once, simply because the whim struck her, she set fire to a small town and sent her Watchers in to harry the fleeing people, keeping them inside the perimeter so that she could watch them burn. After this, she decides to head toward Spain, recalling that several pirate crews liked to use a certain Spanish port town as their landed base-of-operations.

Including the crew of the infamous Adrian.

* * *

Checking her steady southward progress and heading towards Holland, Tira encounters a Dutch trader on a little-frequented path through an evergreen forest. She notices him long before he would have had a chance to notice her, and vanishes into the treetops. 

From her secure perch on the side of the roadway, Tira observes the actions of the merchant and his handful of bodyguards with growing disgust. At least three of the six armed men are drunk, speaking loudly and stumbling, while the others are slashing haphazardly at the trees under the pretense of scaring away an attack.

'The only thing these men are frightening,' Tira sneers silently, 'are forest animals. Any experienced outlaw would recognize them for the amateurs they are!'

One hastily thrown knife comes too close to Tira's hiding place for her comfort and, with quick, angry motions, she returns the blade. But her counter is much more effective, catching the dark-haired man right in the throat. Even before the dead man's knees buckle, Tira leaps clear of her hiding place. The soft sound of her booted feet landing on the top of the wagon blends with the sound of his body hitting the ground.

Not that the subterfuge was necessary, given that the man's companions have seen her emerge from the cover of the trees. But Bird of Passage training runs deep in Tira, a fact that dooms these people even before the fight begins.

"I'm annoyed," Tira announces, "I'm going to make you fools disappear forever."

* * *

In a perfect world, if an assassin has done their job right, there will be no pursuit to shake nor detection to avoid. But Tira cannot kill everyone that she comes across to keep them from spreading tales. Neither can Tira avoid the need to eat and sleep, and though she can easily eschew the comforts of a town inn, it is easier to use the gold she scavenges off dead bodies to buy food other than meat, rather than to kill for it. Also, carrying a lot of extra money is an invitation for bandits and thieves. 

Tira is confident that she can handle any attack, but it is foolish to hold pride above rationality, just as it is foolish to take unnecessary risks while venturing into unknown territory. So, before she leaves the Scandinavian regions, she changes her appearance. Using supplies that she finds in the wagon of the recently deceased trader, she employs her meager skills as a seamstress to make a completely new outfit.

A few reddish-brown pelts of fox fur are sewn and stretched over metal gauntlets, creating braces that cover her entire forearm, to which she adds thick silver arm-rings to protect her upper arms. A third pelt is sewn onto a strip of silk and tied in the back, with a single thin strap over her left shoulder to hold it up. Next, Tira discovers a pair of blue leather pants that resemble the breeches of her favorite green garb, slit up the outsides from the knee and held together with a silver ring at mid-thigh. Tira dons her new clothes and admires herself in the shiny flat of her primary Aiselne Drossel.

She colors her lips with blue makeup and paints a vertical abstract pattern down one side of her face, from forehead to cheek. Then she fingers the greyish blonde strands of her hair, which have turned such an unappealing color as the blue-green dye faded and her roots grew out.

'It wouldn't do to have put in this much work for a new outfit,' she admits to herself, 'only to be identified by the color of my hair.' So, instead of re-dying with the same color, Tira opts to return to her natural shade of auburn.

She laughs merrily as she pulls on her long boots and ties her hair into low pigtails with strips of blue cotton cloth, finishing off the outfit with a wide, dark blue silk ribbon tied in a bow at her throat. Soon, she will be a new land, full of new victims to fill her with pleasure as they die at her hand. But first, Tira must think of a cover story. It's easier to stow away on a ship if you have no possessions to worry about, but Tira has gathered quite a few, none of which she wishes to abandon. So she dedicates her last night in the land of her normal life to the formulation of an alibi.

'My clothing, and my ringblades, are really the only things I have that can't be replaced. I suppose I might be able to pass for a weapons merchant,' Tira contemplates, sipping from a flagon of ale as she watches the setting sun. 'I'll have to brush up on my Romany accent, though...there's no way these Dutch traders will believe that a Nordic girl would travel alone.'

Thanks to her training with the Bird of Passage, Tira is proficient in the use of many arms, not just her ringblade. She prefers throwing knives and daggers if her usual weapon cannot be implemented, but can also use wave swords, whips, or crossbows to devastating effect. As the reddish glow of dusk deepens to purple twilight, the young woman once again raids the dead merchant's store of goods, this time for weapons. Only after she has a decent and varied collection does Tira bed down for the night, lulled to a dreamless sleep by the sounds of her ravens.

* * *

Tira unfastens the traces holding the grey gelding to the merchant's cart, giving the gentle beast a final pat before she accepts payment from the horse dealer at her side. The old woman makes a clicking sound with her tongue, leading the horse a few paces. She nods in acknowledgement to Tira. 

"Fine animal, this one. I tell you again, girl, you're taking a loss, selling him for as little as you have."

Tira gives a little wave of dismissal and replies in Dutch, not forgetting to speak with a slight Gypsy accent. "Pocket the profits, grandmother! We all have to live in this world until we die. Time is best spent in comfort."

The woman laughs, a high, horsey sound. "Aren't you the wise one! Blessings on you, for your kindness to an old lady."

'It's not kindness that motivates me,' Tira thinks darkly, 'But haste, and fear. Fear that I may be caught before my ship puts out to sea.' However, instead of voicing her thoughts, Tira merely nods and calls over one of the sailors.

She pays him with the horse dealer's coins, in exchange for his services in getting her cargo on board. In the interest of staying undetected, Tira has packaged all three of her ringblades, arming herself with a pair of daggers instead. It seems to be working. Everything has gone quite smoothly ever since she started for the Dutch port city that morning.

Everything continues to go smoothly as Tira pays for her ticket, verifies the amount and type of cargo that she is bringing onboard the ship (signing with a neatly written false name, of course), and purchases a drink and small lunch in a bar. The place is located near the docks, which Tira finds convenient. In fact, her mood is beginning to lighten, and she even laughs to herself when she hears a group of mariners telling bawdy jokes. But Tira's cheerfulness is short-lived, coming to an abrupt end as one of the barmaids puts a mug of beer on her table.

She glances up at the sullen-looking barmaid through her bangs, and snaps, "I didn't order this."

"You didn't, but he did," the young woman answers, indicating a bald man sitting at the bar. "Paid for it and told me to give it to you."

She is blonde, moderately pretty, with a plump mouth and slightly wideset eyes of a striking green. Her blouse is low-cut to accent her feminine charm, and she is wearing just a little too much makeup.

Tira senses her resentment and thinks, 'Silly little bitch,' with a brief smirk. 'I don't want the attention of some scummy port-hopping sailor.'

"I don't want it." Tira replies flatly. "Give it back to him, please."

"Give it back to him yourself," the woman retorts. "I've got a lot of work to do."

Purple eyes flash with anger and narrow for a moment. Then, Tira stands and hefts the mug in one hand. She cocks her head to the side and slowly, deliberately, pours the beer down the front of the blonde barmaid's blouse. Whistles and catcalls follow her actions, and the woman--who can't be more than a few years Tira's senior--slaps Tira across the face.

In an instant, the slender brunette has her Jambiya dagger out. She shoves the barmaid backward with her free hand, and the blonde falls onto an unoccupied table. Moving fast, Tira has one arm across the woman's neck, and the blade poised a hairbreadth from her right eye. "If you want to keep both of your pretty eyes, slut, you'll apologize right now."

"Go to h--" the woman begins, but finishes with a scream. Blood gouts thickly from the wound in her cheek, the flow worsening as Tira frees her blade. Then she turns her fist so that her thumb points out and the dagger lies flat against the inside of her wrist. With a pleased smile, she shoves her pointed thumbnail deep into the woman's eye socket.

"You irritate me."

* * *

Luckily for the female assassin, most of the people in the bar are too busy dealing with the mutilated, wailing barmaid to give chase. And those that do are pretty seriously drunk, and easily evaded. But the harbor police are sensitive to disturbances in their area, quickly noticing and joining the pursuing party. 

Having doubled-back several times to try to shake her pursuers, Tira nears the docks just as her ship begins to disembark. She leaps high, twisting in mid-air, and grabs one of the black pouches hanging at her waist. She flings the flash-bomb at the group chasing her, laughing as it goes off in their faces. Mostly, it causes temporary blindness, but for the unfortunate officer who is leading, the blindness might well be permanent. Going into a forward roll upon landing, Tira quickly gets to her feet and dashes to the end of the pier.

Drawing her second dagger, Tira launches herself into the air again, performing an aerial move similar to her Diving Wing Flap. As planned, this gives her enough momentum to cross the distance between the deck of the ship and the pier. She stabs downward with both blades, sticking them into the rail. Several crewmen help her aboard; one of them is the man who loaded her possessions onto the ship.

"Thank you, thank you," she says breathlessly.

The shortest of the crewmen gives her a friendly slap on the back. "Don't mention it, lovely one. We act out of admiration for such a skilled fighter! That was a very dramatic escape!"

"You like acrobatics, my clan are wonderful acrobats!" Tira lies, smiling brightly. "Also very skilled gamblers. That is how I learn to run from law-keepers so good!"

They laugh and nod, believing her lies. Tira breathes a sigh of relief.

* * *

Weeks wasted on a cargo ship (during which time she managed to limit her urge to kill, and the crew was only lessened by two) followed by weeks wasted attempting to track the Adrian. Tira stomps her foot in a fit of temper, muttering, "Aww, I wanted to have some fun." 

The only benefits she has reaped from her detour into the Spanish Empire are merely material. She had purchased several pewter charms, in the shape of skulls, to adorn her dark-gold outfit and the copies she'd ordered up. A much more skilled seamstress than Tira has taken the dress that Ragnfrid designed and produced two different-colored copies of it. One was the rich red of fresh blood, and Tira had bought a pair of boots in similar red leather. The other was pure white, with which she wore the same red boots.

One material possession that Tira has acquired in Spain is much more important than those that expanded her wardrobe. It is the newest weapon of her collection, a delicate but powerful six-bladed ringblade. Good luck brought her to the blacksmith shop where the ancient smith worked, a week after her arrival.

* * *

Tira had taken to the back alleys and rooftops of the city as soon as she arrived. She sold all her excess weapons, keeping her Jambiya daggers, a pair of wave swords, and her own hoop-shaped blades. She kept all of them in the room she rented, for appearances' sake, at a grubby little inn--all except, of course, whichever ringblade she decided to carry with her that day. 

On the day that she discovered the blacksmith shop which would produce her a new weapon, Tira carried her secondary Aiselne Drossel with her, slung over her left shoulder in such a way that the other end rested on her right hip. This made her progress over the roofs of the city much easier, as she leapt from place to place, observing with keenly focused senses all that went on. She was becoming frustrated, for there were no more leads about the Adrian or its legendary captain, Cervantes de Leon. She was also getting quite bored, since she hadn't made a kill in three days. And that one had been awfully dull, only a poorly-trained soldier who'd barely lasted ten minutes against her.

By that afternoon, Tira was smoldering with rage. She'd managed to glean only one bit of new information from all her eavesdropping, and it was thoroughly disappointing. The current rumor was that the Adrian had sunk somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic. But Tira was sure that Cervantes, who had held the sword 'Soul Edge' for so long, was not as dead as tale-tellers might wish him. The Bird of Passage had known of Soul Edge for a long time before Tira joined them, often undertaking missions to eliminate the wrong sort of people from searching for it. Abaddon had often related his story of killing a former Ming mercenary on the Yangtze River to Tira.

Old deaths, cursed swords, and recollections of her life as a hired assassin were no comfort to Tira now. She crouched on the sloping roof of a large house with the brass-and-steel Drossel clenched in one hand, sweating in the midday sun and cursing her circumstances. She'd been looking forward to the challenge that taking on a crew of corsairs would present to her, only to find out that they were probably rotting at the bottom of the ocean along with the two sailors she'd dumped over the rails on her way here.

'If only I could find some other Bird of Passage members. There must be somebody still alive.' Tira thought forlornly. 'Then I could go back to my old life...my real life...'

The clang of metal upon metal shook Tira out of her reverie. Annoyed, she scanned the area and quickly saw the source of the disturbance. Two men were dueling in the courtyard of the house. As Tira watched, the younger of the pair lunged ungracefully at his opponent, getting a slash across the cheek in return. She growled with longing at the sight of blood, and with hardly a thought, flung herself off the high roof toward the duelists.

She propelled herself through the center of her large weapon, landing with a side roll that flowed perfectly into a crouching guard stance. She laughed, "Who wants to die first?"

The elder of the two men rightly interpreted this as the serious threat that it was and turned to run. Tira jumped to her feet and gave chase, hitting him with a sliding kick from behind. As he stumbled away, she rose with her back to him and, holding the Aiselne Drossel in her right hand, threw her weight backwards while balancing on her left leg. The Backside Pointe struck off-center, merely wounding him in the shoulder. He stabbed at her exposed lower back, but her quick dodging kept her from being seriously wounded.

She had to go on guard for a long time, dodging his furious combinations. She hated going against fencers--they were relentlessly stubborn, and it was difficult to break their momentum once an attack really got started. Soon, she was bleeding from many minor cuts on her body and a deeper one to her scalp, and her arms were beginning to go numb. But he, too, was wearing down, injured in several places as well.

Tira faced him, striking out with a Vibrato Flutter. The first horizontal blow sang as one of the spikes of her weapon scraped against the edge of his rapier blade, but when she twirled the hoop on her wrist, this series of strikes hit home, shredding the man's abdomen. Tira shrieked with pleasure as blood spurted from his wounds, spattering her face and body. The man fell to the ground, screaming in agony. He was still alive, but he would pose no threat while she dealt with his younger companion.

"Who's next?" Tira crowed delightedly. The sight of the empty courtyard disturbed her a bit, and she pouted, "That's all? There's no one else?"

The young woman licked her lips, enjoying the flavor of blood upon them for a moment. Then her sharp eyes noted the disturbance of footprints in the dust. She looked closer, and soon found a set that was coupled with a some small drops of blood every few paces. These led out into the street. Eyes bright with anticipation, Tira skipped away, using her weapon like a jumprope.

She passed the outer wall of the property and immediately spotted her target. "Don't run away!" She cried, for that was exactly what he was doing, heading straight for the blacksmith shop across the road.

Tira switched from her playful skipping into an Agrement Double Claw, kicking the young man down. He was tougher than he appeared to be, and definitely more resilient than the older one, because he recovered quickly, and swept her feet from under her. Grasping one of the raised, stylized skulls on the inside of her weapon, Tira drove the spiked part into the ground and back-flipped over it, away from her opponent.

They glared at one another for a moment. The young man spat out several unoriginal curses in Spanish, mostly about her being a whore, and the daughter of a whore.

Unaffected by this, Tira smiled and pirouetted once, having decided that her next attack would be a Chattering Mandible. Holding her arms out, she spun her ringblade on her wrist three times, gaining speed with each revolution. Then she moved toward the man, and dealt him a punishing uppercut blow with the bladed section below one of the spikes. He flew high into the air, and landed on the ground with incredible force.

He gasped, trying to get air into his lungs. The fall had knocked the wind out of him. Tira snickered and hefted her blade in one hand, blowing him a kiss with her free one.

"Hey, does it hurt? Really?" She asked him tauntingly.

"Stop!" shouted a new voice.

Tira paused and glanced in the direction of the voice. It belonged to a very old man, who was hobbling out of the shop. One of his legs was twisted and lame, and what little hair he had left was sparse and white, but he hefted his hammer easily, eyes blazing with anger. Tira wondered if he actually meant to attack her with his smithing tool, or if it was a bluff.

"Old man, do you want me to kill you, too?"

The blacksmith positioned himself between Tira and the youth. "You won't kill anyone!" he declared. The young man had regained his breath, and his feet, by now.

"She killed Uncle Tomas, Abuelo," he said raspily, "let me avenge him!"

"Be silent, Carlos!" The blacksmith snapped.

"I could easily kill you both," Tira pointed out in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"And I," the old man replied, "can give you something very valuable. Much more valuable than the lives of my grandson and myself."

Intrigued despite herself, Tira stepped closer. "What could that be, old man?"

Carlos seized what seemed like opportunity and attacked. But the casual way that Aiselne Drossel hung from Tira's hand was misleading. She immediately whipped it upward into a guard that deflected his blows, and reached through the opening in the middle. Grabbing his shoulder, she performed a Death Spindle throw, shoving him hard to throw off his balance and torquing her hip, then hitting him with a horizontal blow as she twisted back to face front.

"Out of the way!" she snarled. He was lucky that she had flipped the Drossel the other way around, so that the duller side of the spikes hit him. It had occured to her that the grandfather might not talk to her if she killed his grandson right then. And if what the old man said didn't interest her, she could always hunt for Carlos later.

As it was, his grandfather picked him up from the ground and slapped the side of his head. "Cool your temper, boy, or you'll follow Tomas. Can't you see that this girl has no mercy for you? Now get out of here."

Tira smiled despite herself. The old blacksmith's way with his grandson reminded her of the way that Abaddon used to treat her.

"I will make you a new weapon, designed from the one you are carrying." The blacksmith told her. "I can make you a much more powerful blade, one that will strengthen you when you fight with it. All I ask is that you leave my family, the de la Cruz family, alone."

Tira agreed. The promise of a new toy was enough to change her mood to one of good cheer. And she was not disappointed in the least.

* * *

Soon after gifting her with the Ixion, as Tira came to call her new weapon, the old blacksmith passed away. It was not Tira who brought death to him, but another woman, whose brother had died on a blade forged by Señor de la Cruz. And so, it was with great joy in her heart that Tira first painted the gold-and-silver blades of black Ixion with the blood of the old man's murderer. 

Tira smirks at the thought and smooths the over-tunic of her gold-colored outfit. It is late evening, and even though she is still mildly upset over the lack of pirates to kill, she is not terribly bothered by it. There is always blood to be had. And perhaps the pirates stay away out of fear of the Bird of Passage. She still holds out the hope that other assassins like herself are in the world, secretly swaying the balance of power throughout Europe.

Holding the slim, gleaming weapon behind her back, Tira stands in the shadows and listens to the conversations flowing around her. After a month and a half of relative inaction here, Tira expects nothing. She is surprised, and not unpleasantly, to hear new and more urgent rumors than she has been lately.

They all concern a man, though some insist that he is a monster, called the Azure Knight. Everyone agrees that he slaughters people without distinguishing between warriors and innocents, but some claim that he prefers to kill powerful fighters and magic-users. A few call him by another name, a name that describes him perfectly: they call him Nightmare.

Tira perks up, listening eagerly to the tales of chaos and horror that the men spin amongst themselves. Perhaps this was what she had been waiting for. Perhaps this man could be her new master, the master she has been searching for since the loss of Abaddon. She shivers, and thinks,

'Yes, this is the one I can devote myself to. He is like me exactly, needing to kill, needing to feed on pain and death! I will find him. I will find Nightmare!'

TO BE CONTINUED...


	2. Willing Slave

Series Title: Monstrosities  
Author: D.L. SchizoAuthoress  
Rating: R  
Notes: For the first time, Tira meets up with a character from previous games in this chapter, rather than a bunch of original characters. Oh, and as a warning? The pairing for this story is Nightmare x Tira.

_**Monstrosities : Willing Slave**  
a soul calibur 3 fanfic by d.l. schizoauthoress_

Tira leans over the rail of the ship, letting the wind ruffle her blue-green hair. Her newest vehicle, called Soloro, is much smaller than the Dutch ship she'd boarded to come to Spain, but it is also faster. She needs to track down information on Soul Edge and Nightmare, quickly. Her Watchers had descended upon the port soon after she'd found out about Nightmare and, following her instructions, attacked the crew of this ship while she went after the captain.

She'd lasted longer than most, probably because the closed quarters of her cabin, where Tira found her, had restricted the attacks that the young assassin could perform. But now, the captain is simply a dead body nailed to the main mast, where Tira's Watchers feast on her rotting flesh. The mariners that survived the initial attack serve Tira out of fear. Tira smirks, knowing that they will all be dead by the time that she reaches her destination.

---

In a few days, Tira disembarks from the ruin of Soloro in a lifeboat, and crosses the remainder of the Mediterranean Sea alone, with only her Watchers for company. When she comes in sight of land, Tira continues her journey on foot.

Later, with several fire-gutted and otherwise destroyed taverns and dead men behind her, Tira has enough clues to piece together a map of events. It seemed that the immortal pirate, Cervantes de Leon, former owner of Soul Edge, had been defeated in combat nearly eight years prior, around the same time that Tira's unit of Bird of Passage had dissolved. Similar events had occured all over the world, and the whole phenomenon was being called 'the Evil Seed'. The appearance of Nightmare, also known as the Azure Knight, coincided with the 'Evil Seed', and he had terrorized Europe for many years--years that Tira had spent in the Joutenheimen. Even though Cervantes was believed to still hold one of his two Soul Edge blades, Nightmare had possession of the other, which had taken the fearsome form of a giant Zweihander-type sword. This style of sword was preferred by some of the men in Schwarzwind, which was a band of mercenaries and thieves.

Tira smiles as she sits down on the ground, knees drawn up close to her chest, her shining Aiselne Drossel flat on the ground around her. The silver, wing-shaped blades gleam red with blood in the sunlight as she counts out the money she scavenged from the bodies of Schwarzwind men. Enough to support her for a month! How greedy these men must have been, and how used to luxury! The slow and stupid way that they'd defended themselves spoke clearly enough on that point.

And now, Ostrheinsburg Castle awaits her--Ostrheinsburg, Nightmare's former headquarters, and where he is believed to be, even now. Tira reflects on the fact that many crossroads in her life have been in Germany--her first kill, the terrible rain that thrust her from her assassin's life into the ordinary world, and now what she hopes will be the gaining of a new master.

She can hardly wait.

---

In the prime of its existence, Ostrheinsburg Castle had been hailed as an equal to Venice in regards to the canal system. Boats and rafts had traversed the whole of the fortress, bustling with the business of normal people living normal lives. A city had begun to develop. Two decades ago, Sir Stefan had taken Ostrheinsburg as a refuge and ruled the surrounding lands with justice and mercy. During a siege of the castle in the same year that the Azure Knight came into being, Sir Stefan was betrayed by one of his castle guard, a talented young mercenary named Siegfried Schtauffen. Siegfried brutally murdered the noble old knight and stole Grimblade, Sir Stefan's legendary sword and most prized possession.

After the fall of Ostrheinsburg, the Bird of Passage converged on the ruins, only to die on that old battlefield like so many others. Nightmare came to the fortress soon enough, and perpetuated the horror. For three years, Ostrheinsburg Castle served as the base of operations for a loosely allied group of evil murderers. The dwellers of Ostrheinsburg's fledgling city abandoned the once-fertile lands, fearing for their lives. But suddenly, at the end of those three years, the partnership dissolved, and Nightmare mysteriously abandoned the old castle.

No one knew why the Azure Knight left his stronghold, but whispered tales of blessed warriors from the far East circulated, saying that he'd been weakened, in fact nearly defeated by the trio. Nightmare was next reported to be wandering the world, and for a time, he only killed under the cover of night, true to his name. He gathered much strength from the stolen souls of his victims, and vanished for a short time on a quest for even more power, only to reemerge on the scene like a beserker. Whole armies fell when he attacked them.

---

Nightmare has travelled the long, difficult path from the Lost Cathedral to Ostrheinsburg, harvesting souls and recreating his notorious reputation as he goes. And finally, having achieved some stability in his new corporeal form, Nightmare rests. The despoiled cathedral in the castle ruins is his chosen haven.

_'And fittingly so,'_ he decides, _'since I died and was reborn in another abandoned place of worship.'_

Day by day, with each soul he feeds to his blade, Nightmare's physical body strengthens. Soon, he will be able to remove the blue armor that hides his twisted form. Then he will be ready to begin his quest, ready to reclaim the true blade of Soul Edge. Red eyes glare out at the world, ever searching for souls to appease his terrible hunger.

And day by day, though it is unknown to him, a willing slave makes the long, difficult journey to be by his side.

---

Tira's hopes are fulfilled as she approaches the old castle. She recognizes the location from her memory, and knows that Nightmare resides within from the rumors that she has followed, but it is more than knowledge that allows her to identify the man. She has boarded a small raft, carrying only Bifrost with her, and is floating along with the currents when he appears outside the wrecked chapel.

The moment she sees him and locks gazes with those glowing eyes, red and hot as freshly spilled blood, an unholy voice from within her whispers...kindred soul!

For a moment, one of Tira's hands rests on a spot just below her left breast, trying in vain to cool a sudden, sharp pulse of pain. Uncertain of why she hurts there, Tira nonetheless leaps out of the raft onto the bank of the canal. Nightmare lifts his huge blade, and, realizing that he is about to attack her, Tira flings her ringblade away. She prostrates herself on the ground, crying out,

"Master!"

This declaration gives Nightmare pause. On one hand, he could kill this girl easily, feed her soul to his blade and rip the Soul Edge fragment from her body. But...

"Oh, Master! Oh, Nightmare," Tira cries, overcome with emotion. "Please accept this humble slave's offer of servitude! If I can serve you in any way--mind, body, or soul--I beg you, become my master, please!"

Nightmare stares down at the scantily-clad young woman kowtowing in the mud. He senses in her a roiling storm of conflicting emotion. She feels both joy and terror at facing him, mixed with fear and despair lest he reject her. If he was at full strength, instead of weakened by his resurrection, he wouldn't even have hesitated. But he speaks to her, a low growl that is not without curiousity.

"Look at me."

Tira's heart lightens at the authoratative note in Nightmare's deep voice. She lifts herself onto her knees and stares up at him. Even if she wasn't kneeling on the ground, he would tower over her. From this vantage point, though, he looks like a dark, netherworld god passing judgement upon her. Tira is suddenly, embarrassingly aware that her face and green outfit are splotchy with mud, but she doesn't dare wipe it away, doesn't dare act without his command.

_'Such a dark soul, so stained with death and pain.'_ Nightmare muses as he stares into her wide purple eyes. _'Such a strong fighter, and so young...'_ He smirks, though it goes unseen behind the face-guard of his helm, _'So submissive and pliant to my will, if I wish.'_

Nightmare reaches down with his monstrous right hand, slips a single clawed digit beneath the girl's chin, and tilts her face upward, studying her profile. She trembles violently, but it is not from fear. The look on her face is one of rapture, and she breathes softly, "Master..."

"Tell me your name, and why you are worthy to serve me."

"I am Tira," she answers him, "I was once an assassin of the Bird of Passage. The Evil Seed wiped them out, at least those of us who were here. I lived with a foster family after that, but I've killed them all. Since then, I've wandered the world, looking for someone to be my master. I know..." Here she pauses, as if wondering how best to phrase the next portion of her reply.

She takes a breath, and continues. "I know that you kill to feed your demonic blade. I kill because it is all I have known, since I was very young, and I am very good at it. I will kill for you, for Soul Edge...I will do whatever you ask of me, because we are the same kind of creature, but you are much greater than I. Let me serve you, Nightmare! I will be a good slave, I swear it!"

Without a word, Nightmare grabs her by one shoulder and lifts her high in the air. His huge, misshapen hand tightens around her body, squeezing the life from her. Tira convulses as greenish-white bolts of lightning--her soul-energy--course through her body and into Nightmare's.

"You are of no use to me," Nightmare roars. "Only your soul is of any value, and Soul Edge hungers for that!"

"Take it!" Tira screams ecstatically, thrashing in his grip. "Take it, Master; my life is yours!"

At this, Nightmare smiles. New vitality--stronger than most, freely given--fills him. He ceases to drain the young woman's lifeforce and lowers her to the ground. "Tira," he says, his voice surprisingly gentle, "you have proven your worth to me. I accept you as my slave."

Tira's whole body shakes, both from the physical strain of having her lifeforce siphoned off and from the emotional exhaustion of winning over her new master. But she stays on her feet, though she sways a bit as tears spill onto her cheeks. "Oh, Master..." she chokes out, "Thank you, master mine."

"Come, Tira," he commands, "Bring your weapon and follow me."

Nightmare leads his new slave into Ostrheinsburg Chapel. Tira stares with wonder at the place, ignoring the fact that it is partially destroyed. The vaulted roof is still whole, though some of the non-supporting pillars have been cracked or smashed, and the stained-glass windows are missing a few panes. Several of the pews are ripped from their moorings and broken to mere sticks of firewood. It is still impressive and beautiful.

_'And,'_ she thinks, taking in a deep breath and tasting the blood and death on the air, _'it smells like home.'_ Aloud, she asks, "Master?"

"Yes, slave?"

"You don't live in the castle, Master?"

Nightmare turns to look over his shoulder at her. "I did, once. Not now."

"I like this place!" Tira exclaims, to reassure him that she does not imply any criticism of his living arrangements. She dares to ask a few more questions. "Master, where do I sleep? Will you need me to stand guard?"

Nightmare indicates the wide steps leading up to the altar of the church. At the foot of the altar itself, there is a pile of bedding. "You will be here, near me. And there is no need to stand guard, for no one would risk approaching this fortress."

Tira nods, but makes a mental note to have her flock of Watchers keep a lookout for tresspassers anyway. She walks over and sits on the altar steps, hugging her knees. Unbidden, her head hangs low and her eyelids droop.

"I suppose," Nightmare says, "that you are tired. The fragment of Soul Edge that you carry in your body gives you more endurance, but not that much." He stops, amused by the shock on her face. "What? Did you not know of the shard embedded in your flesh?"

"No. No, Master."

Nightmare reaches out with his left hand and caresses her breast, lifting it slighly. His hand then drifts down to touch the narrow, reddish scar hidden just below, right where she had felt that sudden pain upon seeing him. "It is right here. I hear it calling to me, singing out to me..."

"If you need it, I will cut it out of me!" Tira murmurs, once more trembling at his touch.

"No..." Nightmare replies, "Not yet. Through this shard, I will always know where you are, my slave. In fact..." The man goes up the stairs and overturns a pouch sitting on the altar. Several fragments of metal, all of different sizes, but all of the same dull red color, spill out of it. He turns back to Tira, "These shards, which I gained after killing a creature known as Charade, are of no use to me until I can reclaim the true blade of Soul Edge. Later, I will give you some as a gift. For now, Tira, you must sleep."

"Yes, master mine," Tira says softly. "You are kind to your slave."

Nightmare looks down at the young woman curled up at his feet. Tira lies with her head pillowed on her folded arms, the hard lines of her face softened by sleep. He has only been gone a few hours, mostly to gather the souls of some bandits he sensed on the outskirts of Ostrheinsburg. But he has also seen evidence of Tira's handiwork, which was probably why the bandit group had come so close to his fortress--they had wanted vengeance, but had only found death by his blade.

Also, he'd discovered Tira's camp, hidden in the forest on the southwestern edge of his territory. What gave him the most trouble was transporting her mount and pack animal, a spirited coal-black stallion. The beast was like his mistress, small in size, but he more than made up for it in spirit and stubborness. Nightmare had tethered him outside on a long lead, and the stallion had settled down for grazing.

Suddenly, Nightmare wonders why he bothered. He should have returned and wakened Tira, and ordered her to do it herself. She is, after all, his slave. A very beautiful slave (of that there could be no doubt), but a slave nonetheless.

"Tira." He says, testing the sound of her name.

Immediately, the assassin jolts awake, and springs into a ready crouch. She gazes around the cathedral, and replies with a crisp, "Yes, Master!" as she determines her surroundings to be safe.

Nightmare smiles. _'I could get used to this.'_

TO BE CONTINUED...


	3. Willing Slave II

Series Title: Monstrosities  
Author: D.L. SchizoAuthoress  
Rating: R  
Notes: Don't say I didn't warn you! This story is most definitely Nightmare x Tira, with no Siegfried in sight. While I enjoy reading it, I don't like to do Siegfried x Tira myself. (Oh, and no worries about the sex, okay?)

_**Monstrosities : Willing Slave II**  
a soul calibur 3 fanfic by d.l. schizoauthoress_

Tira hums happily as she grooms Sleipnir, her black stallion, after leaving Nightmare's territory to scout for new victims. For the two weeks that she has belonged to Nightmare, to Tira's delight, their nights have been dedicated to killing. The two of them have killed whole villages of people. They venture far afield in their hunt for souls, and though Nightmare rides no mount, he travels fast enough on foot for Tira to require Sleipnir.

At the moment, Nightmare is sleeping, and Tira dedicates the rest of her time to preparation--such as changing her hair color and clothes. Patrols of soldiers, attracted by the stories of slaughter, might be looking for a teal-haired Tira. She bleaches her hair to platinum blonde and changes into her black skirt, short red tunic, and red half-jacket. Pulling on her boots and gloves of red leather, Tira thinks, _'I hope I won't have to dye my hair again soon. If I keep this up, the chemicals will make my hair all fall out...'_

In order for Tira to be a proper servant of Nightmare and Soul Edge, she must learn many things. She does not mind--what Nightmare has to offer her can only make her a better assassin. For instance, Nightmare has shared with Tira the way to draw the souls of her victims into the shard embedded in her body, so that the people she kills will feed the cursed sword and strengthen him. In addition, she must also learn the history of Soul Edge and its nemesis, Soul Calibur.

Tira is most interested in her master, and in his current situation. The armor of the Azure Knight, which is now the real host of Soul Edge, cannot yet be removed from the new body being molded by the magic. This magic, powered by the spirits of the Lost Cathedral, who gave their energy to gift Nightmare with corporeal form, must constantly be replenished by fresh souls. But with only a few more powerful souls, Nightmare's physical body will be completely realized. Then, he will be able to claim that body as his host.

Screams rise in the still night air as Nightmare continues his bloody harvest. Nightmare chuckles, "What sweet sounds...of death." Blood, gobbets of flesh, and bits of bone decorate his armor. Nightmare revels in the massacre, and for once, there is no conflict in his mind...no guilt...no other self shrieking at the horrors he commits. He hacks a man in half vertically with his Shadow Breaker move, then grabs the small child the man was protecting and crushes her to a pulp in his right hand.

Exultant, Nightmare thinks, _'Blood, darkness...souls...come unto me! My resurrection draws near!'_

He hears wild, half-mad laughter nearby. His servant is enjoying her duties. He moves toward the sound of her voice, laying low the fighters of the small town.

"Your heart beats..." Tira growls low, circling her prey. "The sound is grating!"

The swordsman takes a mid-level slash at her, but Tira ducks and deals him a blow to his legs with her Low Swoop. He stabs downward, piercing her shoulder. Tira screams, with rage, but he mistakes it for a cry of pain. The man grimly loosens his sword from her flesh and stabs down again.

Tira isn't there anymore, though. She has rolled backward, and now extends an arm toward the swordsman. The Ixion whirls on her wrist, fast as thought, and hits him several times before he has a chance to block. He stumbles back and Tira is following, yelling, "I'll make sure to grant you your death!"

Ixion ignites with bright soulfire as she swings it back, snarling, "Hurry up...and die!" Then she spins in place, slamming her ringblade into her opponent's torso. The swordsman flies backward, and slams into the wall of a nearby building. His back shatters, and he falls to the ground in a limp, useless heap, his clothes and skin smoldering. Tira grins. No one can stand against the Blazing Cadenza.

Then Tira lifts her hands, which are suddenly wreathed in purplish-red lightning. The energy travels through her body and into the shard she carries. Nightmare feels a rush of power as the soul of Tira's opponent flows into the cursed blade.

He laughs appreciately. "Yes...I can see your darkness..."

Tira shouts, "Behind you, Master!"

Nightmare turns, delivering a Dark High Kick to the chest of his attacker. The warrior goes down, losing his battle axe in the process. Nightmare stabs his blade into the man's back and gathers soul-energy in his free hand to perform a Soul Smasher. A powerful bolt of lightning slices the sky and strikes the Phantom Soul Edge, which channels an overload of energy directly into Nightmare's victim. As the warrior screams a death cry, Nightmare crows, "I'll burn you alive!"

Then Nightmare falls back into a Night Side Stance, and feels Tira at his back, raging silently at the people of the town. An older female fighter charges them, and Nightmare dispatches her with a Skull Chopper strike. Tira takes a few steps away from Nightmare, driving back another fighter with a Low Swoop, which she quickly follows up with a Low Pitch Pointe, effectively disabling the man. To finish him off, she simply uses the abilities granted by her shard and rips his soul out.

A fresh wave of fighters rushes them. _'A reserve force!'_ Tira realizes. _'Dammit, I should have seen it!'_

Nightmare is unpeturbed. "Cower in fear!" he roars, unleashing a Soul Wave on his unsuspecting opponents. Then, the two warriors of Soul Edge make a break for it, running at full speed into the cover of darkness. Nightmare unknowingly outpaces Tira, but she manages to keep a steady following distance. That is, until the sneak attack.

A woman of middle age, dressed strangely like a noble, leaps down from a rooftop, and lashes out at the teenage assassin with her chain whip. Tira shrieks in real agony as the sickle-shaped blade at the end of the woman's weapon rips into her side.

Nightmare spins at the sound, and is frozen with mingled shock and rage at the sight of the female fighter stomping at Tira, who is lying on the ground, too pained to do more than shield her head from blows. He attacks the noblewoman with a Cannonball Splitter, going into a forward flip, smashing the woman with his armored feet, and then bringing Soul Edge straight down on her head. Then he shoves away the remains, and scoops Tira up from the ground.

The Watchers circle overhead, shrieking in their bird language. If he could understand their tongue, he would know that they lamented the lost chance to avenge Tira themselves. But the Watchers were pragmatic souls, as always, and would settle for murdering the people left still living within the town.

"Master!" Tira gasps, and he sees blood staining her teeth and lips...her blood. The sickle has pierced her side deeply, curving under her ribs on the right side of her body. Nightmare cradles her gently to his chest with one arm and runs with all speed, soon vanishing from sight.

In no time, Nightmare finds a place to rest, below the archway of a bridge. It is far enough from the town they attacked to offer some sanctuary from pursuit. The Ixion falls from Tira's weakening grip as Nightmare ducks underneath the masonry. He places Tira on the thick carpet of moss near the riverbank, and inspects her wound. As he suspected, it is fatal. His slave is going to die.

Unless...

Nightmare reaches to a pouch hanging on his belt. He pours its contents into the massive palm of his right hand and murmurs, "The shards..." It is the only hope. His left hand picks up one of the largest fragments and he snarls at Tira, "Fight it, slave! I order you, fight your death! Or this place shall be your grave."

"Nightmare..." Tira chokes out.

"Brace yourself," Nightmare says coldly, "this is going to hurt." And he shoves the fragment of reddish-black metal into her wound. A wordless howl of pain rises from Tira's throat. Blood gushes anew from the gash in her side. But the evil power of Soul Edge, sensing her darkness and her eagerness to accept it, begins to heal her.

Nightmare places three more shards into her body. Tira's eyes, wide open and blazing with power, seek his. Her hands claw at his armor, her nails draw blue sparks from it. "Nightmare! Master!" she moans, "Oh, Master!"

Her body shudders. Already, her wound has closed and is healing over in a wide, reddish scar. Nightmare is relieved to see the success of his desperate gamble. Tira has proven her worth time and time again, and it would pain him to lose her. Her eyes no longer glow in the darkness, but tears glisten in them, diamond-bright in the starlight.

"Master mine..." Tira whispers reverently. "You honor me with your mercy."

"Hmph," Nightmare snorts, pretending indifference. "I don't know why. I suppose I've become accustomed to your presence, slave."

He stands, unceremoniously picks Tira up and sets her on her feet, and glares back in the direction they have come. He will massacre the fools who dared to harm his own. Tira wades into the shallows of the river and plucks Ixion from its resting place wedged between two rocks. She gazes along the same line of sight as Nightmare, and suddenly cries, "Master, look!"

Far in the distance, but steadily getting close, a dark, seething cloud rises into the air. Nightmare stares at it, unable to identify it. "What in hell is that?"

"My ravens!" Tira cries, "My beautiful Watchers! You will see, master mine, as they draw near, how their beaks and claws drip with blood. My Watchers are true assassins, always!"

Tira does a bit of joyous bouncing, an action met with silent, salacious approval from Nightmare. As the ominous cloud comes closer, it does indeed resolve itself into a large flock of dark-feathered birds with eyes like glowing coals. Tira leaps high, twirling once in midair, and lands facing her master. Then the ravens swarm her.

For a long while, Nightmare watches as Tira dances with gleeful abandon. The young woman moves the way that she fights: with beauty and grace, and yet, not without the potential for deadliness. She seems to be singing in a low voice, so low that it is nearly lost in the rush of the multitude's wings. "Yillaweh, yeehabani, odeh...yillaweh, yeehabani, odeh..."

In the midst of this, the horse Sleipnir comes galloping up. Nightmare grabs the beast before he can disturb Tira's celebratory dance, all the while keeping his eyes fixed on her lithe, shapely form. She has done this every time at the close of their hunts, and Nightmare never tires of it. Suddenly, the ravens spiral upward into the night sky, leaving Tira behind. Feet firmly on the ground, Tira stares up at her brethren, motionless. The expression on her face is one of such longing, of such sorrow, that Nightmare can hardly bear it.

His voice sounds rusty, it is so near a growl, as he grits out, "Tira, we're going home."

"Are you in pain, Master?" Tira asks anxiously, hurrying to his side.

"Not exactly, Tira. But I long to remove this cumbersome blue armor."

"Oooh, Master!" his slave squeals with excitement. "Does that mean we succeeded? Have you a true body to be your host, now?"

Nightmare smirks. He merely shrugs, and motions for Tira to get into Sleipnir's saddle. As she obeys, he remarks tauntingly, "You know, I do believe that I won't tell you."

He can sense her mind much more strongly now, through the connection of her shards. She is frustrated at her failure, overwhelmed by Nightmare's generosity in saving her, tired from her exertions, and tantalized by his reticence--and, coloring all that is an undercurrent of sadness. For some unfathomable reason, Tira's insane mix of emotions gives Nightmare comfort. The usual order of things has been restored to him.

Tira is nearly mad with curiousity by the time that she and Nightmare arrive back at Ostrheinsburg. The blood on her skin and clothing (both hers and that of others) has dried a dark, rusty brown and itches her as it flakes off with her movements. She knows that her outfit is probably ruined, and will at the least be exceedingly difficult to clean. She sighs, but is glad that she didn't choose to wear her dark yellow outfit--the last remnant of her life in Scandinavia--that afternoon.

The three of them--Azure Knight, assassin, and horse--enter the fortress by the secret bridge in the forest. Once across, Nightmare orders Tira to care for her horse and join him in the chapel once she is done. Tira leads Sleipnir away, and Nightmare enters the chapel.

First of all, he removes the helmet from his head. The spiny crest, imitative of a Roman helmet, and long alicorn-like decoration on the brow might seem fearsome to others, but to Nightmare (especially after a long night), they are just heavy. He sets this down on one of the remaining pews and proceeds to take off the rest of his armaments. When they have all been removed, Nightmare clothes himself with a pair of plain brown pants and begins to clean the blue armor of the spattered remains of his victims. He smiles to himself, pleased to be doing this task himself, pleased to feel the chill of the night breeze on his skin.

Had Sir Stefan still been alive, and had he been in the chapel to behold Nightmare, the old knight would have been astounded at the similarity between this monstrous man and the man called Siegfried Schtauffen. The shape of Nightmare's face, the proportions of his more human body parts, and the grimness of his features...all echo the form of his former host. It isn't surprising, if one considers that Zasalamel had used Nightmare's most recent memories as the basis of his ancient spells. Of course, the similarities made the differences between the two men stand out all the more. Siegfried was fair in complexion and hair, with blue eyes, not unusual for a German; Nightmare's skin was pale brown, with a reddish undertone, and his hair was blood-red, like his eyes--red-irised with a black cornea.

The most striking of differences was, of course, Nightmare's huge, horrifyingly constructed right arm. The skin of it is a dull goldish-tan in color, its shape rough and blocky due to an almost blade-like bone structure and a thick musculature. The hand that his arm ends in is completely inhuman, the back decorated with spurs of bone and the palm padded with scaly green flesh. The three digits of the hand--two fingers and a thumb--each end with a wicked claw. The mutant parts even extend to other places on his body, such as his back--the bulging vertabrae has, in three places, developed into sharp spikes that broke out of his tough skin. But that is not the worst part. The worst parts are that extra eyes glare out from random areas of that arm...that the shoulder has a fanged mouth on the side, protected by four tusk-like protrusions...that another extraneous mouth bares vicious teeth on the right side of his chest. The eyes, though they roll and blink at times, are stone-blind, and the mouths seem to be clamped permanently shut, but the twisted features are nonetheless grotesque and unsettling.

Nightmare finishes the job of cleaning his armor just one of the chapel's double doors creaks open. Tira appears, wearing only her sleeveless black dress, having shed the extra layers of her outfit. The large tear on the right side exposes the shiny red scar that stretches across her flat belly, nearly to her navel. She runs to Nightmare's side, violet eyes shining.

"Master! Amazing," the young woman gasps, "it worked!"

She reached out her hands, unable to resist giving in to the curiousity of touching him. Her hands run over his stomach and chest and the shoulder of his left arm before she even thinks that he might not want her to. Tira gazes up into Nightmare's face, a bit fearfully, and mumbles, "Sorry, Master. I should have asked..."

"It's all right," Nightmare assures her. "Your hands feel good. It has been a long time since I felt anything."

Tira lets her fingers trace the shape of his bicep and the crook of his elbow as she asks hesitantly, "If...if it would please you...I'd like to touch your other arm."

Enticed by her sudden shyness, Nightmare nods his assent and carefully studies his slave. Her hands stroke the rough flesh of his right arm, and she traces the outline of one of his blind eyes with her index finger. Intrigue and wonder fill her eyes, and her cheeks flush with color. There is no fear, no disgust in her mind as she looks at him, only awe and a softly burning desire. A desire that reflects his own.

_'It wouldn't be wrong...to give in...would it?'_ He wonders for a moment.

Whether it is or not, neither of them cares. Nightmare clutches her close, and kisses her hard, smearing the rouge on her lips. Tira winds her legs around his waist and kisses him back with equal ferocity.

**TO BE CONTINUED...  
...in the "Gods and Demons" arc...**

Name and Language Notes: In Norse mythology, "Sleipnir" was the name Odin's eight-legged horse. Sleipnir was one of Loki's sons.

"Yillaweh" means 'he will become attached', "Yeehabani" means 'he will love me', and "Odeh" means 'I will give grateful praise' in Hebrew. I didn't mention this before, but since "Tira" came up as both a Hebrew name and a Scandinavian one, I made the Bird of Passage a group of Hebrew speakers. I don't mean to offend anyone with that, so I apologize if anyone is.


	4. Gods and Demons

Series Title: Monstrosities  
Author: D.L. SchizoAuthoress  
Rating: R  
Notes: I tweaked the timeline of Cervantes's profile here. In the game, it gives the impression that Tira came to see him the moment that Soul Edge was sealed by Soul Calibur, which doesn't fit with the story I've made so far. Basically, I split the "stormy night" into two seperate incidents. Read on for more!

----

**_Monstrosities : Gods and Demons_**  
a soul calibur 3 fanfic by d.l. schizoauthoress

----

Captain Cervantes de Leon smiles grimly as he surveys the choppy grey ocean spread out before his flagship. The clouds swirl overhead, threatening a storm. Cervantes orders the bosun to seek shelter in the cliffs of a nearby island, which is the northernmost of the archipelago claimed by the British Empire. Usually, the Adrian would not venture quite so close to that nation, an enemy of the crew's own, but Cervantes had become more desperate to feed on strong souls since he'd felt Soul Edge's power sealed and lessened.

A strong wind whips the sails of the Adrian to the tightness of drums, and an eerie howling rises. It sounds like the spirit of the drowned singing a dirge to the sailors aboard the flagship. The mortal men shiver, bending to their tasks at double-time, but Cervantes de Leon merely laughs scornfully and tilts his face into the wind. As his long white hair blows back, streaming like a ragged pennant, he recalls the terrible things that have led him to this place, to this course, to this accursed half-life.

----

If there was one thing that Cervantes de Leon, or what was left of Cervantes de Leon, feared, it was death. He had brushed it once, when he'd acquired Soul Edge for his own. The cursed sword, which had formed itself into a matched pair at his touch, had nearly killed him with the memories of massacre and death that it poured into his mind. The injuries he'd sustained at the time weakened him further. But the brush with oblivion that he'd had then, and the abject terror he'd felt, had given him the strength to manipulate Soul Edge's power. The mind of Cervantes, if not all of his soul, returned to his dead body and revived it. And while the dread pirate continued to feed souls to his horrific blades, his body remained useful to him.

His flesh became cold, his eyes became glassy and dead. But he could not be hurt for long. The stolen vitality of the swords promised him that. Cervantes willingly gave his mind, his soul, and his body to the service of the cursed sword, more so than any other who had held Soul Edge. So great was his devotion that he could sense all incarnations of the sword, even after the awful events that tore Soul Edge from his grasp.

Cervantes remembered the Athenian warrior, a young girl of eighteen who wielded blessed weapons, who had shattered the smaller of the blades in Soul Edge's dual incarnation. The fragments had scattered far and wide, some embedding themselves in Cervantes's dead flesh, and in the living flesh of his opponent. Weakened, fueled by rage, Cervantes had nonetheless gone for a killing strike, which would have landed if not for the other woman. An interfering Asian woman who wore a red bodysuit and hid her face behind a mask, who held a sword of considerable power and the knowledge of demon-sealing techniques.

That battle, Cervantes had lost. Even the true spirit of Soul Edge, the fiery creature called Inferno, had failed to defeat the female ninja. And for a time, Cervantes de Leon lay as if in the clutches of death, no more than a charred corpse clinging to the single remaining Soul Edge. It was not long, though, before a young German knight appeared on the Adrian. He had tried to take Soul Edge from the hand of Cervantes, and also vanquished Inferno in battle. But that time...

That time, Soul Edge sang out to its conqueror, sensing a soul in turmoil, a soul to subjugate to its wishes. And Siegfried Schtauffen took Soul Edge away, to begin a new reign of terror on the world.

Furious at the theft, Cervantes de Leon called upon the power remaining in the shards within his body, and regained his former condition. Snatching up a short sword from the body of a former crew member, Cervantes travelled the streets of that Spanish port town, killing all who stood in his path. Soon, he started a quest to collect fragments of Soul Edge, guided by the shards that whispered direction in his mind.

Cervantes was pushed to a state of existence that no man can survive. No man can fall as deeply into insanity as Cervantes did and still be alive. But then, Cervantes was no longer alive and had not been for some time. In his madness and obsession, he even carved a likeness of his old pair of swords in wood.

He now wielded a different pair of swords than he had in the past. One was the Soul Edge formed by the fragments he'd gathered, and the other was one of his own design -- a short sword with a pistol in the handle, which he called Nirvana. Soul Edge shrieked its twin hungers in his mind: to devour souls, and to whole once more. Cervantes sailed the seas in search of more victims, happy to appease his blade if it meant his continued existence.

Death was so empty.

----

As the rain lashes down in torrents, most of the Adrian's crew takes shelter belowdecks. But Cervantes is not bothered by the wind and rain, just as he is never bothered by intense sunlight, or -- for that matter -- any change in weather or climate. His crew is assembled of mortal men bound to him by greed and fear -- fear of his wrath and the wrath of Soul Edge, and greed for the treasures that he plunders from the bodies of his victims. Old habits die hard, and Cervantes is first and foremost a pirate.

Cervantes watches the lightning flash across the slate-grey sky, but his mind is elsewhere. Seeking out the main body of Soul Edge, he senses something similar: a phantom of that power, with a 'voice' that is as well known to him as his own. A thousand tiny echoes of that voice, the uneasy murmur of each Soul Edge shard, clamor for his notice. But the true Soul Edge, the mate to the one that he holds, remains muted. Instead, a harsh discord fills his mind as he 'touches' that incarnation -- the 'crying' of something else, like the Soul Edge but also, horribly, unlike it.

Even as he pushes that presence away, Cervantes remembers the night he first 'heard' it...

On a night gripped by storm, not unlike this one...

----

That time, the Adrian was caught unawares, and all the crew struggled to find a port, any port. They were far south from Spain then, off the Gold Coast of Africa. Cervantes ordered them to head for the cliffs, where he knew there were shallow caves that would offer at least some shelter from the winds and waves.

The sails were taken down and the oarlocks opened. The crew and the few prisoners aboard the Adrian struggled to move the huge flagship through the violent sea. Cervantes lent his unearthly strength to holding the tiller steady. The ocean battered the sides of the ship, knocking a few holes out of it -- any hands that could be spared were sent below to check the damage. A cannon was lost, and a good measure of the provisions, but at least the holes were above the regular waterline. When the storm passed, there would be no chance of the ship taking on enough water to sink.

Finally, the great vessel slid into one of the cliff-caves and found relief from the merciless ocean. Cervantes staggered away from the tiller, intending to head for his cabins. He had barely walked ten feet before a terrible pain gripped his entire body. The pirate captain fell to his knees and screamed, joined in his agony by the unholy voice of the Soul Edge blade sheathed at his hip.

In desperation, Cervantes tore the sword from its scabbard, only to find that its aura was steadily dimming. Unlike most people attuned to the cursed sword, Cervantes could see the energy it emanated, which appeared to him like flowing blood and flickering flame all at once. The pain was like a spear of ice through his chest, like an unbearably bright light searing his vision. Through that pain, though, he could see his hands, trembling as they clutched his Soul Edge. His flesh was crumbling away, revealing blackened bone that glowed with cinders in places beneath the ash that had been his muscles. Soul Edge, all of Soul Edge, had fallen completely silent.

Horrified, his mind filled with terror at the thought of death coming to claim him, Cervantes had struggled to his feet, aware that little time remained to him. The first living creature he encountered, he slew with his bare hands, slashing at the veins in its neck with his sharp fingerbones. As the blood washed over his decaying, crumbling flesh, Cervantes felt that stolen life renewing him. A murmur of interest in his mind, as his Soul Edge tasted this new soul.

Cervantes snatched up the cursed blade, and somehow found the strength to cry out in his twisted, death-tangled voice, "Souls! More souls!"

The crew hurried to do his bidding, ignoring that he'd just killed his second-in-command. Screaming, terrified prisoners were dragged up from the hold, each dying the quick, agonizing death of having their souls ripped from them by Soul Edge. All of them were dead by the time that Cervantes had regained his old form.

----

It hasn't been so long since he last killed to stablize his body, but Cervantes notices right away when he begins to break down. The rain is washing away ash that had once been the skin on his hands and arms. Cursing under his breath, Cervantes turns to go down to the hold where the new prisoners are.

"Wow," an unfamiliar, laughter-filled voice calls down to him, "looks like you're in trouble!"

Cervantes whirls around, drawing his swords as he moves. His gaze settles on the topmost mast, where a girl clad in strange green clothing is perched, surrounded by a huge flock of black birds. "Who the hell are you?" he demands roughly, angry that he hadn't noticed her before.

The girl reaches one gloved hand down to grasp one of the ropes and slides down it, until she hits the rigging with its mesh of crossed rope. She swings around and sits on one on the horizontal ropes as though it were a swing. A flash of lightning illuminates her face, showing purple eyes as expressionless as his own, half-hidden behind the platinum-blonde hair that dripped sodden with rain.

"I guess you could say I'm a servant of the cursed sword. Call me Tira."

Not taken in by her friendly, cheerful tones, Cervantes notes the large circular blade slung over one of Tira's shoulders. His swords seem to shriek in nearly human voices as he clashes them together and shouts at her, "The cursed sword takes no servants but me! For those lies, you die!"

Tira glares at the undead pirate and leaps down, landing on the deck heavily, in a cat-like crouch. She stands and holds her silver Aiselne Drossel in attack position. She will get no pleasure from killing this dead thing, but if he persists in not listening, she is willing to do it. Tira scoffs, "I don't even feel like killing you, idiot."

She knows that he is suffering from the degenerative effects of having the main Soul Edge sealed. His attack, spurred by her insult, is far too slow. Nimbly, she dodges his stab, and slaps the side of his head with the flat of her ringblade.

"If you listen to me, I can tell you how to free Soul Edge." Tira snaps impatiently. She can tell that he is getting interested, so she continues, "My master, Nightmare, escaped being sealed with the body of Soul Edge. Siegfried Schtauffen used the spirit sword, Soul Calibur, to seal the cursed sword away. That's why you have been falling apart, Cervantes, because the swords have nullified each other."

"How do I know that you're telling the truth?" Cervantes demands. He has no intention of allying with this irritating little girl, whoever her master might be. But he knows that his existence is inextricably entwined with that of Soul Edge.

Tira smiles again. She lifts her arms and twirls before him, showing off the reddish scars on her body, visible through the tears in her green outfit. Normally, they are covered by purple body-paint, but the rain has washed that away.

"See these? Nightmare has gifted me with many shards of Soul Edge. You should be able to sense them." Her voice drops low, becoming playfully seductive. "Well? Can you feel it, Cervantes?"

Cervantes narrows his eyes in annoyance at her flippancy. It is true that, now that he listens for it, he can sense the whispers of the fragments inside her body. The Soul Edge in his hand moans eeriely, longing to be joined with those shards.

Before Cervantes can attack her, however, Tira backflips out of the way and is swarmed by her murder of ravens. She vanishes under the cover that they have provided her, leaving Cervantes alone on the deck.

The immortal pirate flexes his grip, little more than a skeleton now, on the hilt of Soul Edge and heads for the prisoners. While he now has a new quest to consider undertaking, the demands of his dying flesh must be met before he can do anything else.

TO BE CONTINUED...


End file.
